


Tybalt & Mercutio In 100 Words Or Less

by BluePeople



Category: Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:13:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluePeople/pseuds/BluePeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship told in 12 short chunks.  (This is slash.).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tybalt & Mercutio In 100 Words Or Less

**A/N:**    I’ve dug up my massive collection of old R&J fanfic.  This one was my favorite.  It’s Tybalt/Mercutio slash - at least as much slash as you can fit in 100 words.

* * *

 

**Dominance**

They often played little games of dominance with each other; the only problem was, Tybalt wasn’t always sure who was winning these games. One morning, for example, Mercutio showed up in full Capulet livery and spent an hour waiting on him hand and foot – helping him wash, combing out his hair, kneeling to lace his boots up slowly. He accepted a cuff to the face gracefully and without protest whenever his service was slow or clumsy. And then, at the end, out of nowhere he produced a glittering razor. “Now if milord would please tilt his head back…”

* * *

**Skirt**

Tybalt frowned at the man perched on his desk. “I thought I told you…”

“To stay away, because you wanted to chase skirt tonight.  I know.”  Mercutio hopped to the floor and unfolded himself smoothly, standing straight and tall and solemn in a plain white nightdress. It was a _girl’s_ nightdress, a long silk sheathe that made him look fragile, almost ghostly. But not unappealing by any means. “That’s your prerogative, of course…”

Tybalt supposed that the girls downtown could wait til another night. Or another lifetime.

* * *

**Punishment**

“Tybalt-!  _Oh-_!”

Tybalt realized Mercutio was breaking the _rule_ , even before the bitter slime coated his tongue.

But he didn’t pull away mid-climax. Instead, once it was over he rose from his knees, gripped Mercutio’s chin hard to wrench his jaw open, and spat the entire mess into his mouth.

Mercutio tried to just look contrite and take his punishment quietly. Since Tybalt was holding his face to prevent spitting he swallowed, fighting with his body as it gagged up on him. He finally got the terrible mouthful down and winced. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll bet you are.”

“Never again.”

“Good.”

* * *

**Words**

Because Mercutio generally allowed himself to be manhandled, it was sometimes hard to remember that he was quite strong when he wanted to be.

Every once in awhile, though, he would fight back, wrestling Tybalt down despite his most heartfelt resistance.  He would hold him still, touch him until he lost his head, and then refuse to continue until Tybalt begged using words that made his cheeks burn.

Tybalt thought he hated this, the helplessness and the humiliation, and was unable to explain why the orgasms that resulted were some of the best of his life.

* * *

**Kissing**

They kissed a lot. Sometimes Tybalt initiated it, as a way to stop Mercutio from talking. Sometimes Mercutio did, as a way of teasing, of drawing out the tension between them.

Sometimes it was a way to fight for control, and then a way for the winner to demonstrate ownership. Other times it was because they didn’t have enough time or privacy to risk anything more satisfying.

And sometimes when they kissed it was for none of these reasons.  They never discussed it.

* * *

**Giving**

Mercutio was hesitant at first, knowing that Tybalt didn’t really want this. But a few insistent kisses soon changed his mind.

It wasn’t a warm and welcomed union like when  _he_ yielded himself… rather, for Tybalt this seemed to be a painful exercise in self-discipline and fortitude.

And Mercutio found he loved it – to see Tybalt forcing himself,  _for him_ , was even better than enthusiastic enjoyment would have been. This was not mutual pleasure-seeking; it was a gift. Overwhelmed at being offered something of such value, Mercutio came hard, soon, breathing his partner’s name low and reverent.

* * *

**Sleeping**

Tybalt was dead to the world the moment head met pillow, and come morning only the brightest sunlight or most insistent banging could rouse him.

Except when he shared a bed with Mercutio.

Then, he would only drop off once Mercutio was snoring solidly, and woke whenever Mercutio stirred.

Mercutio assumed that Tybalt simply didn’t trust him not to mistreat a sleeping bedmate.  It never occurred to him that as long as he was awake he couldn’t keep his hands off – stroking Tybalt’s chest, kissing his shoulder, whispering filth into his ear – and Tybalt didn’t want to miss a second.

* * *

**Damage (Part I).**

“Engaged?” Tybalt choked on it. “You… agreed?”

Mercutio shrugged. “I’ll live.” He was thinking of the wedding night, which of course would be distasteful, but…

Tybalt stared. Hit him. Left, and didn’t look back.

It was only much later that he realized Tybalt had been thinking not about the wedding night, but about all the nights and days that would come after.  Nights and days he would be spending with his wife, not with his…  The thought of that was not just distasteful, it was unacceptable.

Mercutio broke off the engagement at once.  But the damage was already done.

* * *

**Jealousy**

“Let’s find a closet.  I ache.”  Mercutio whispered it at a big dinner, brazenly, just like old times.

He expected a blush, a scandalized hiss – something – but instead Tybalt only curled his lip.  “So proposition one of your friends.”

“I did,” he lied. “But Benvolio said he could still smell Capulet all over me.”

Tybalt scowled, and for one satisfying moment Mercutio thought him jealous.

...until he spoke, calm and cold.  Just: “If he prefers the smell of Montague, I’m happy to bathe both of you in Montague blood.”

As if there had never been anything between them.

* * *

**Optimism**

Tybalt finally cracked one night, and scaled Mercutio's wall.  He meant to break in and kneel by the bed, kiss his neck and hold him for just a moment. And then leave.

He thought that even after all the cruelties between them Mercutio would allow it, when he needed it this badly.

But the window was unlocked - Mercutio must be expecting someone.  Else.

Tybalt was armed and knew he could not control himself, so he fled.

It was another month before Mercutio’s optimism wore out, and he finally gave up on Tybalt and started locking his window.

* * *

**Forgiveness**

Mercutio regretted the kick at once. “Kitty?” He knelt, reached out. “I didn’t mean to-…”

The cat bristled when his fingers made contact. It swiped at him, then jumped up awkwardly and skittered away on three legs. From a safe place under a low table, it turned to hiss.

Its eyes were dark, and painfully familiar. When ten minutes had passed and Mercutio had failed to stare it down, and repeated offers of a gentle hand only ended in set after set of teeth marks, he just left it a saucer of milk and went away. Again. 

* * *

**Damage (Part II).**

Tybalt prided himself on never needing a lesson twice, so after he’d gotten his feelings hurt he answered all attempts at reconciliation with silence and steel. This plan worked brilliantly for months, right up until the sunny afternoon he actually caught Mercutio with a lucky (or unlucky) thrust to the abdomen.

A gasp. “Tybalt, God, what’ve you-”

Apparently Mercutio hadn’t lost all his power after all, because that _hurt_ , more than Tybalt could handle. His chest tightened until he could hardly breathe.

He dropped the blade at once and backed away. But the damage was already done.

* * *

 

**The End.**

Let me know what you think!  I have loads of R&J fanfic I can polish & post if there's interest.


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